Going to bed at night, we assume that will be awakened by our alarm next morning. But…
K Morris reading his poem ‘No Alarm’.
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K Morris reading his poem ‘Milk’.
We continue to go about our hum-drum lives while others are suffering loss.
K Morris reading his poem ‘Circles’.
The debate surrounding sex work/prostitution appears to go around in circles, with one side blaming the sex bias, and saying that they should be fined or imprisoned, while the other argues that the state/society has no business interfering in what occurs between consenting adults. Often, it seems that neither side is listening to the other, while client and sex worker continue in their age-old roles.
K Morris reading his poem ‘Owl’.
I’ve always felt an affinity with owls. My home is close to a historic park in Upper Norwood (a suburb of Greater London). From time to time, I hear the owls’ eerie cry, which brings to mind thoughts of my own mortality, coupled with the death of King Duncan in Macbeth.
K Morris reading his poem ‘Shadows’.
This poem came to me while sitting in my study. Shadows played upon the walls and brought to mind the impermanence of things. I am visually impaired but can see the play of shadows on my wall, although I cannot read print.
K Morris reading his poem ‘Genes’.
Are we just our genes?
Shadows
Many thanks to Pax Et Dolor Magazine for publishing my poem Shadows.
By:- Kevin Morris
On such a day, when the winter sun
Casts my shadow upon yonder wall,
It is difficult to recall
That all
This will, one day be done.
In future will some other one, sitting here, and seeing their shadow fall
Upon this self-same wall,
Know that they may not forestall
The night
When dancing shadows are, forever lost from sight.
Note: The copyrights on the article belong to the author. The responsibility for the opinions expressed in the article belongs exclusively to the author. Previously published on newauthoronline
Raining
Many thanks to Pax Et Dolor Magazine for publishing my poem “Raining”. Kevin
By:- Kevin Morris
I awoke to the rain
drumming on my window pane.
Opening my lattice I let it in
the purifying water that washes away sin.
The hypnotic sound
of rain falling all around.
All my life I have listened to the rain.
The same drumming
of water coming
from the sky
falling on you and I.
The rain has no end
But you and I my friend
may listen for a while
smile
then pass on by.
Note: The copyrights on the article belong to the author. The responsibility for the opinions expressed in the article belongs exclusively to the author. Previously published onnewauthoronline
What is Poetry?
An interesting question. Where does poetry become poetic prose, and at what point is it simple prose rather than poetry or poetic prose? I dont have a hard and fast answer to this question. Much of my own poetry rhymes. However I dont believe poetry has to rhyme to be construed as such. Kevin
Fire
Many thanks to Pax Et Dolor Magazine for publishing my poem “Fire”. Kevin
By:- Kevin Morris
I have felt the fire’s power
It kindles brightly and sinks within the hour.
I have watched the embers dying fast
Looked into the future and gazed into the past
I have raked the ashes cold
Felt the bleakness in my soul
Previously published innewauthoronline
Note: The copyrights on the article belong to the author. The responsibility for the opinions expressed in the article belongs exclusively to the author.
K Morris - Poet 